


the long game

by anabel



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29280258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anabel/pseuds/anabel
Summary: “You really don’t think there’s something wrong with a woman who makes men literally fight to the death for her hand in marriage?”Jacques sighed, and stashed his dagger in his belt so he could use both hands to tie his hair back out of his face. “Are you just going to stand there all night sniping, or are you going to help?”
Relationships: Competitor For Princess' Hand in Marriage/Disgruntled Prince Who Believes the Princess is Evil (OW)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	the long game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fair_Feather_Friend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fair_Feather_Friend/gifts).



“You really don’t think there’s something wrong with a woman who makes men literally fight to the death for her hand in marriage?”

Jacques sighed, and stashed his dagger in his belt so he could use both hands to tie his hair back out of his face. “Are you just going to stand there all night sniping, or are you going to help?”

Kwame dropped elegantly down into the window seat, folded his arms across his chest, and arched an eyebrow. “I can sit if that makes you feel better.”

“You’re hopeless,” Jacques said, with fond exasperation. 

“If by ‘hopeless,’ you mean ‘utterly uninterested in the petty mindgames of an entitled monarch,’ then yes,” Kwame said, “I am hopeless.”

“You know,” Jacques said, renewing his attempt to pick the lock of the library’s side door, “you’re sort of an entitled monarch yourself.”

“I,” Kwame said, “am elected.” He ruined this lofty pronouncement by adding, “And if I was looking for a consort, I would certainly not put my fate in the hands of happenstance.”

Jacques looked at the library door, which he wasn’t _entirely_ sure wasn’t slightly sentient. It would be just like Hao of the Northlands to set that particular trap. “It’s a little more than happenstance. Give me credit for some skill here.”

“I give you credit. However, you are one of only three princely competitors to show any merit as a consort whatsoever. The Princess Shairon risks much with this flight of caprice.”

“First you think she’s evil, now it’s caprice. Make up your mind. Also, you’re here and not at home swanning around in your Elected Princeness, so – give me a hand with this lock, will you?”

Kwame stood from the window seat and walked over, long lazy steps. “My dear Jacques,” he said. “I am not here to play childish wargames for the hand of a princess.”

“You picked an odd time to visit this realm, then,” Jacques said, ignoring the way his breath came a little shorter.

“On the contrary,” Kwame said, and plucked the lockpicking tools from Jacques’s hands, “I think I chose a very good time.”

“You’re going about wooing Shairon very badly,” Jacques said, sticking his tongue out at Kwame’s back.

“Perhaps,” Kwame said, and the curve of his mouth was vexing. “But you see, I always play to win.”

~/~

The door was indeed enchanted. Jacques, who took the first step inside the haunted library, ended up in the infirmary for a week, and he got off lightly. In the end, Hao won Shairon’s hand in marriage, and Jacques won a week of bedrest listening to Kwame read him bad poetry.

On their tenth wedding anniversary, Kwame confessed that he had been the one to enchant the door and take Jacques out of the game.

On their eleventh wedding anniversary, Jacques confessed that he had known all along.

~/~


End file.
